Ballad of the Street Rat
by stress
Summary: Spot Conlon is the most notorious street rat in all of New York. A womanizer, a thief, a murderer, Conlon can do no wrong. That is, until he, on a whim, marries and begins a cycle of events that will change the city forever.
1. Poverty is the mother of crime

Author's Note: _I really shouldn't be starting a new story but I've had this idea in my head for a week now and it just won't stop nibbling at my brain. I finally gave in and just got the prologue down – it's a Spot story, set in Brooklyn, about 7 or so years after the strike. I've never done an entirely Spot story before and I think it will be good to try. It's also based – loosely, mind you – on the story of Mack the Knife, in case you were wondering. Just thought I'd share that with you. Anywho, here is the first part – I would really like it if anyone who read this told me what they thought. I'm thinking about, maybe, putting _Diabo _on hold to work on this a bit. Would that work? _

Disclaimer: _Spot Conlon, as he is a character from the 1992 live action musical, _Newsies_, is the property of Disney. Anyone else mentioned in this fiction will be the creative property of me. The line "_things weren't as sad and grim as they are now_" is taken directly from the "Pimp Tango" from the Threepenny Opera._

--

Ballad of the Street Rat

06.23.06

Spot Conlon is the most notorious street rat in all of New York. A womanizer, a thief, a murderer, Conlon can do no wrong.  
That is, until he, on a whim, marries and begins a cycle of events that will change the city forever.

--

_Poverty is the mother of crime_ - Marcus Aurelius

--

_Prologue_

They say that 'poverty is the mother of crime'; such was not the case for Spot Conlon. He was born into a life of poverty – that can not be denied. The only child of Margaret and Patrick Conlon, young Liam was undersized and underfed. He was the product of a violent father and weak mother – Margaret died shortly after Liam's birth leaving her son in the custody of his no-good drunk of a father. If it wasn't for her dying breath, giving her wriggly pink mess of a son the name of 'Liam', the child would forever be called 'It' by his father; Patrick blamed the boy for the death of his wife and very rarely called him by any name other than 'Boy' when he was drunk.

Patrick Conlon was the first blood shed by Liam's hands and it was all done by accident. In a drunken fit, Patrick told his son, pushing twelve at the time and, for all appearances, looking like he was eight, that his mother deserved to die. "She was a damn whore who couldn't even give me a decent boy in return for her worthless life," he had said before Liam attacked. A knife from the table setting had been the fatal weapon. Patrick was dead before he knew it. He was not the first – anyone who crossed Spot Conlon, in the years to follow, shared the same fate as his father.

The feel of the warm liquid across his hands opened the boy up to more opportunities. He packed the limited belongings he had accumulated over the years, discarded his Christian name in favor of a nickname – _Spot _for no other reason than it was the easiest name for him to spell at the time – and left his father's hovel.

He was a Brooklyn boy, born and bred. Rather than flee his home, he appealed to the street rats of the city. After a few well placed crimes – he had learned to steal what he needed years ago when his father refused to provide him with food or clothing during the direst of his binges – Spot was welcomed into the fold.

Within a few years, at the age of sixteen, Spot found himself the head of the Brooklyn newsboys. It was a position that awarded him with respect; in truth, he was the most infamous newsie in all of New York. But Spot wanted more.

He gave up the pretense of being a newsie just before he turned eighteen. He had a weakness for a pretty girl; if she was a good lay, she was all the better. By using the charm that came inherent to him, Spot Conlon gathered a group of girls that pledged their loyalty to him. He made most of his money by selling those girls and splitting with them a cut that he felt fair: ten percent and all the Spot they could want. Most were satisfied with the arrangement.

But the lure of stealing never wore off for Conlon. And, with every score he made, every item that was 'unstealable' that made it into his collection, his name spread even further. Every man wanted to be in with him, every woman wanted to fuck him, every lawmaker wanted him dead.

And Spot Conlon just smirked about it all.

Therefore, it must be said, Spot Conlon's crimes were not the result of his early poverty. By the time he was 20, in the year 1903, Conlon had enough money to retire to a more stable life. But he didn't. And the crimes continued.

Spot Conlon did not steal, did not murder, did not sell his women just for the money it earned him. He did it for his reputation. So, in the case of Brooklyn's most notorious street rat, poverty did not mother crime. Infamy did.

--

The tale that I am prepared to tell is one of poverty and crime, of second chances and regrets, of love and lust. It is neither for the squeamish nor for the faint of heart – but it for those who have an affinity for happy endings.

This story is as old as the day is long and as long as the day is old; it began with the first sunset and will only end when dawn comes at night, bathing the dark creatures with a light so beautiful that it sends them to their doom.

The following is as true as any elaborated yarn spun about a notorious figure can be. Things weren't as sad and grim as they are now – for Conlon to find happiness after all the crimes he committed, it was more than understood. It was expected.

The ballad of the street rat, Spot Conlon, is more than just the chronicling of one man's rise, fall and, ultimate, rise again. It is, at it's innermost core, the written documentation of a love affair.

Spot Conlon and Brooklyn. Was there ever a pair more evenly matched? Would there ever be a couple that even rivaled the passion Spot felt towards his City? Or the affection that Brooklyn offered in return?

--

The story of Spot Conlon begins in the summer of 1906. The news was spreading like the wildfires of the West that were dominating the headlines those days: Spot Conlon – the womanizer, the thief, the murderer – had gotten married...


	2. The most terrible poverty is loneliness

Author's Note: _Thank you so very much for the reviews on the first chapter. I wasn't sure if people were going to like it, but the comments you guys left made me feel all warm and fuzzy inside :) So, here is the following chapter. I decided to marry of Spot to an original character I created for the purposes of this story. But, as the summary says, he gets married on a whim. And, as Spot is a womanizer, he is definitely not going to just settle down with one woman. He just thinks he will right now. This chapter is still setting the stage for what will happen. I haven't really gotten to the story yet. But it's coming... and I'll either need characters or just throw them in (coughRaecough). More information on that in the next chapter, though._

Disclaimer: _Spot Conlon, as he is a character from the 1992 live action musical, _Newsies_, is the property of Disney. Anyone else mentioned in this fiction will be the creative property of me. _

--

Ballad of the Street Rat

06.29.06

Spot Conlon is the most notorious street rat in all of New York. A womanizer, a thief, a murderer, Conlon can do no wrong.  
That is, until he, on a whim, marries and begins a cycle of events that will change the city forever.

--

_The most terrible poverty is loneliness, and the feeling of being unloved. _– Mother Teresa

--

_Part I_

If you did not know Spot Conlon personally, odds are that you would never recognize him if you, by chance, met him on the street. He was handsome – God, yes, was he handsome – but not every good looking man was Spot Conlon. He was shorter than the normal man, with smoother features than one would suggest a street rat possessed. When he was celebrating his twenty-third birthday early that spring, one would assume the young man – if they didn't know any better – was still in his teens.

Despite his young appearance – or maybe because of it – Spot Conlon normally went unnoticed when he patrolled the streets of Brooklyn. He knew better than to dress in his expensive and flashy clothes; as much as he adored the attention, his own sense of self-preservation curtailed his extravagance. And, as long as he kept his fair head down – hair bleached from too many hours sitting outside in the New York sun – and hid his eyes, no one noticed that he was, indeed, the infamous Spot Conlon.

It was his eyes, a beautiful set of cyan eyes that seemed to pierce straight through to the heart of anyone who made contact with them, which marked his as known to anyone who knew the lore. It was said, amongst the rabble and the thieves of the city, that one look into Spot Conlon's notable eyes and you belonged to him. Needless to say, many of the women desired one glimpse, if only to have some tie to the man. It was no wonder that the he kept his eyes shielded by pulling a worn grey cap down.

And it was his eyes that, accidentally, garnered the attention of Katie White, youngest child of the scoundrel, Harold White. Harold White was a lawyer with a substantial fortune; he was, however, notorious for running after young girls and getting into fights with men half his age. He had two children: Katherine, aged nineteen, and Walt, aged twenty-six, with Marie Marshall-White, a banker's daughter who died following Katie's birth. He never remarried, preferring to accompany himself with whores and, when feeling respectable, actresses.

After finishing her last year in a Massachusetts boarding school, Miss Norville's School for Young Women, Katie White returned to live with her father and older brother in their house in Brooklyn. With her long dark blonde hair done up in pin-curls, her slender body fit inside a fancily embroidered white gown, and her bright green eyes, Katie appeared to be an angel descending among the hustle and bustle of the city.

Katie's train rolled in on the first of June, in the year 1906. The conductor, a young man who had eagerly tried to catch her eye during the long ride south, offered his arm to her; Katie graciously accepted his offer, taking his arm with her right, while carrying her small bag with her left. The rest of her luggage would be sent separately at the school's leisure. But that was alright, the clothes one wore in Massachusetts was quite different from the sort one wore in Brooklyn.

With a demure smile, Katie thanked the young man for his help. He didn't seem to want to leave her side but, when the whistle blew, he bowed his head and, sadly, retook his post just inside the train.

"Kate? Katie! Over here!"

Shielding her eyes, Katie had looked around for the source of the voice that called for her. She knew right away it would be her brother coming to call for her; he had sent her a telegram early last week that he would be retrieving her from the train station on the first of June. She was quite excited to see her older brother. She had missed Walt something awful during the school term.

But, before she saw the form of her tall and dark brother, her eyes made contact with a shorter man. It was a chance meeting and for just one second, it was as if they were the only two people in the world. His eyes were just that powerful. And, in that second, the man, leaning nonchalantly against a pillar off to her right, smirked; he had seen her, too.

Then Walt appeared, calling out to her again. "Katie White!" This time his sister saw him and hurried to his side. Once the strong arms of her brother were wrapped around her trim waist, swinging her around gaily, all thoughts of the enchanting stranger fled from her mind.

--

Spot Conlon had gone down to the train yards to intercept a package that day, the first of June, in 1906. He had assumed that it would be an easy score; some big shot would be carrying a case full of crisp one-hundred dollar bills. A quick bump and one of his boys would grab the bag. Easy pickings.

That was before he saw her. He was off to the side, waiting for his target, when he spied her coming off of the train. She was pretty – very pretty – but it wasn't her looks that caught his attention. He was Spot Conlon; he had had every girl inside his bed, many much more beautiful than this girl. It was the way she carried herself that drew his gaze.

She was on the average size for a girl, though Spot assumed much of her height was due to fancy heeled shoes that were the fashion. Her back was straight, and her head was held high; she walked as if she belonged in Brooklyn, yet kept her eyes down in a sign of timidity. There was a singular word that he felt described this girl: _innocence._

He was looking her up and down when, all of a sudden, she glanced his way. Their eyes locked and he could almost feel the blush that stained her porcelain cheeks. He did what Spot Conlon normally did in such a situation – he smirked.

Then a tall, broad man, a few years older than Spot, came hurrying towards her. "Katie White!" he hollered and Spot, immediately, tucked that bit of information away. The girl had a name. He let his eyes follow her for another moment before, out of the corner of his right eye, he spied his target. He slowly raised one hand to scratch his nose. A small boy on the other side of the yard mimicked the gesture. And then they were off.

--

Later that night, long after he had given his helper a three percent cut of his profits from the earlier job, Spot turned his thoughts back to the girl he had seen at the yards. Now, he knew he could have any women in the city: married, single or widowed. Most never knew his name; they only regarded him as their 'knight in shining armor' come to carry them away from a dull and hard life. And he did – until he ventured onward to another conquest.

But, lately, Spot wasn't sure that was enough. He wanted someone to share his bed with and not only for one night. He wanted a wife.

And he was sure that this Katie White would make a fine wife.

It was a lot easier than one would guess to find the girl; there were not too many White's living in Brooklyn and, since she had a man waiting for him at the station, he figured he would start in Brooklyn. Spot had no worries about the man he saw at the station. Competition or not, rival suitor or no, Spot knew he would be victorious.

Spot sent one of his younger runners to scout out any of the White's they knew of. The first one happened to be the lawyer, Harold White. When Scotty arrived at the White's house, he spied a girl sitting on the front porch that matched Spot's description perfectly. She was alone and when Scotty, sneaking up quietly beside her so that she wouldn't run in the house, appeared by her side, she confirmed his suspicion by saying that her name was Katherine White. She looked confused that the street urchin had come to her house; most liked to holler obscenities from across the street, never daring to get too close in case a cop was nearby.

Scotty had removed his hat then, in a sign of good intentions. He told the girl that there was a man he knew who was interested in her; would she agree to a meeting? Katie laughed him away before escaping inside her home.

Spot, now that he knew where to find the girl, rewarded Scotty with a dollar before heading down to the White's house himself. Arrogantly, he knocked on the door and was surprised when the girl herself opened the door. He could tell that she recognized him; at the very least, she opened the door.

So, it was on the first of June, of 1906, that Spot Conlon began to court Katie White. The pair was secretive; no one was aware that they were seeing each other except them. Spot insisted that it was exciting this way. Katie knew it was because the fling would never last.

But, on the third of July, of 1906, amidst two witnesses – a pair of bums they offered a quarter apiece to – and a bribed judge, Liam 'Spot' Conlon took Katherine 'Katie' White to be his wife. When the girl, at last, gave her new husband his first kiss from her chaste lips, Spot felt that the long courting time would be worth it.

He took her gloved hand in his callused one as he left City Hall and began to lead her back to their now-shared home in Brooklyn. He spied one of his boys rolling dice on a corner alley and winked. He mouthed the single word: "wife" before turning his attention solely on Katie. He was eager to get her into his bed at last. Or, at least, that's what his he told himself. Now that he had made her his legal wife, he denied his earlier wants and desires of finding a suitable one.

It was later, as Spot Conlon led his new bride, Mrs. Katie Conlon, inside his apartment, he knew that as long as she was by his side, he would never be poor again.


	3. Who, being loved, is poor?

Author's Note: _Sorry about the long wait. I meant to have this updated the following week after chapter two but then I had a severe case of writer's block and then my computer crashed and I lost all my files – including the first half of chapter three. But, I decided that this was as good a time as any for the next chapter. Poor Katie – she was designed to be a poor sap. I guess, in her case, she can't have beauty and a brain. In a way, she seems to me to be Spot's ideal bride, a trophy wife, per say._

_Well, I hope you like the next chapter. Lots of reviews equals happy author equals quicker chapters. Yes, I am a poop. And if you want a role in this story, I need names, ages, looks, personalities, and anything else you'd think I would need. Woot. A PM or review is fine for the information; any questions, PM me._

Disclaimer: _Spot Conlon, as he is a character from the 1992 live action musical, _Newsies_, is the property of Disney. Anyone else mentioned in this fiction will be the creative property of me. _

--

Ballad of the Street Rat

07.31.06

Spot Conlon is the most notorious street rat in all of New York. A womanizer, a thief, a murderer, Conlon can do no wrong.  
That is, until he, on a whim, marries and begins a cycle of events that will change the city forever.

--

_Who, being loved, is poor? _– Oscar Wilde

--

_Part II_

She woke up, that first morning as Mrs. Liam Conlon, all alone. His pillow was lying haphazardly along the edge of the bed they now shared; the clothes he had shed so quickly upon their arrival were missing. Liam had already left for the day.

Katie was not surprised. Just prior to their quick wedding in front of the 'honorable' Judge E.A. Monahan, an old friend of her new husband, Liam had taken her slender hand in his and told him of his occupational intentions. She had had her suspicions that his income came from less than desirable means; though he never told her anything about himself apart from his name – and that took the first three weeks of their courting to convince him to share even that – she was not _that _naïve. She had heard stories about the criminals, beggars and thieves that ran rampant across Brooklyn while she stayed and studied in Massachusetts. Could her loving husband be mixed up with such scoundrels?

Regardless of what she thought her new husband had done in the past – it was his insistence on keeping the past in the past that had aroused her suspicions in the first place – there were two things that Katie could be sure of: that she loved him and that she could trust him. He was her husband now. He wouldn't lie to her.

_Would he_?

Liam had promised her, now that they were legally husband and wife, that – even though he was already a 'businessman' – he planned on pursuing a career in the banking profession. According to him, to be a banker, it would be much safer and more profitable for the newly wedded pair.

Sweetly, Katie had offered to introduce him to her father; Harold White was, despite his flaws and – unknown to his precious daughter – his underhanded dealings, a prominent lawyer in the city. If Liam was looking for a legitimate profession, there was nothing finer than the noble profession of law. But Liam had disagreed; as he explained to a confused Katie, his talents lied in handling in money. Therefore, he would be a banker.

She had nodded her understanding. And then they were married.

Now, though, as she stretched out in her marriage bed – the bed which, last night, had claimed her innocence – Katie assumed that Liam had already gone ahead to act on his promise from the day before. "He must have gone to look for a job down at the bank," she mumbled as she rolled over until she was on the edge of the bed. She slid off of the sheets, untangling her naked body from the blankets, before stepping onto the hard floor. Her bare feet flinched slightly at the cold but she grew accustomed to the sensation as she crossed the lavish room.

The Conlon apartment was much larger than Katie would have assumed; one look at Liam and the manner in which he went about his life, and you would not expect him to have a three room apartment with an indoor water closet, porcelain bath tub and large gas stove. He had an expensive furniture set that filled his sitting room but, as Katie noted earlier, the bedroom was missing a nice shag carpet.

Katie reached for her silk dressing gown; it had been a wedding gift from Liam. He had it waiting for her for when they arrived in the apartment together, for the first time, last night. It had taken all of his charm to entice Katie to remove her clothing and climb into their bed in order to consummate their marriage. In the end, he had given her the robe as a compromise. Liam was aware that his young bride was quite ashamed to show her body to him; she was not above exchanging her white embroidered wedding dress for the translucent pink robe. Even though her husband was able to see through the material, she felt much more decent wearing the coverlet.

It wasn't until the Sun had set and Liam had lowered the shade, emerging the apartment into a sudden darkness, that she was comfortable enough to disrobe. It was then that she gave her new husband his wedding gift.

Katie smiled as she wrapped the chilled gown around her slim frame. She raised her hand to her cheek; as she stood there, in Liam Conlon's bedroom, naked with only a silk robe to keep her modesty intact, a feverish feeling overtook her. Her marriage had been consummated in his bed – their bed. She was truly Mrs. Liam Conlon.

There was one thing now that she had to do.

She had to share the news with her family. There was no use, keeping their relationship secret. They were married.

And, besides, her father and brother must have wondered why she never returned home to her bed to sleep last night.

--

Spot Conlon stretched his arms out behind him as he hurried from his apartment. He yawned and, his arms still outstretched, he moved his right hand to smooth his fair hair down. Despite her innocence and obvious inexperience, Katie had kept him up late last night. He had only just woken up when he had to; he only had enough time to pull on the same clothes he had on the day before kissing his wife gently on her pale forehead and exiting the bedroom.

_My wife_. It even sounded strange inside his head, almost like he was thinking about someone else and not him. _I'm married_. He had never thought it would happen. He had always assumed that he would surround himself by whores and strumpets, without ever tying himself to one specific gal.

But then he met Katie…

It's not that she was the most beautiful girl he had ever met; that honor was held by a performer girl from China he had seen down at the fair one night last summer. And she sure wasn't that intelligent; if she was, she would have surely figured out what kind of 'businessman' he really was.

To her he was just her Liam. She was aware that his nickname was Spot but, as she said after she finally convinced him to share his Christian name with her, she wanted to call him what his Mama called him. That was what finally got him to ask her to marry him. And, on the 3rd of July, they were finally married.

_It was a lot easier than I thought_.

The girl was so sweet and trusting; in a way, Katie reminded him of his mother. Margaret Conlon shared the same fair hair as Katie did, and both women kept their eyes widened in a perpetual state of innocence. And were the only women to ever call him by the name of 'Liam'; Margaret with her last breath, Katie with her loving expression as she took him to be her husband.

There had been one photograph of his late mother in the apartment where he grew up with his father – everything he thought he knew about Margaret was gleaned from that faded black & white picture; he kept it resting atop his nightstand within his bedroom, having stolen the frame that held it after killing his father. Katie had remarked on the image after entering the room for the first time the night before. "She was beautiful," the young women had said, looking at the women who had died giving Liam Conlon life.

All Spot could do at that moment was echo the words toward Katie. Whether he meant them or was just eager to get his young bride into his bed, Spot didn't know. But he did appreciate her acceptance of his mother. He was sure that, if Margaret had survived, she would have liked Katie too.

Just then his thoughts, which were seedily returning to the night before when he had finally convinced Katie to remove the silk robe he had gifted her with, were interrupted when he heard a familiar female voice call out to him.

"Man alive! Say it ain't so, Conlon. You didn't really go out and marry some dame, did ya?"

Spot Conlon spun around. Maybe it had not been the smartest idea to show off Katie to Rick when he saw him playing dice yesterday. He should have remembered that news such as his getting hitched would spread throughout the city before he even had time to blink.


	4. A rich man is but a poor man with money

Author's Note: _Here's chapter four. Woot. I know, it took like forever to get this out, but problems arose, ensued, were overcome… That, and I have way too many stories on my plate at this moment. Next time I decide to publish one, someone _please _smack me._

Disclaimer: _Spot Conlon, as he is a character from the 1992 live action musical, _Newsies_, is the property of Disney. Anyone else mentioned in this fiction will be the creative property of me. _

--

Ballad of the Street Rat

08.24.06

Spot Conlon is the most notorious street rat in all of New York. A womanizer, a thief, a murderer, Conlon can do no wrong.  
That is, until he, on a whim, marries and begins a cycle of events that will change the city forever.

--

_A rich man is nothing but a poor man with money_. - W.C. Fields

--

_Part III_

Harold White removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose before slumping back down on the sofa. His two children were each occupying one of the wooden-backed chairs across from him, Walt to the left, Katie to the right. The daybed sunk down in the middle under his considerable bulk but Harold did not seem to notice. He was too preoccupied processing and responding to his only daughter's announcement.

"Katherine Elisabeth White," he said, his voice a mixture of rumbles and groans, produced from deep in his gut, "why would do something so… so _foolish_? Married? I can not believe this." He removed the hand he had on his nose and used it to, self-consciously, brush some of his thinning fair hair over the bald spot at the back of his head. Katie knew he was agitated now – normally her father did not draw attention to his balding head in front of anyone, including his children.

She did not know what to say – all she knew that it would be even more foolish to speak out of turn and add that her name was now 'Katherine Elisabeth White _Conlon'_. Rather than reply to her father, she turned to her right and glanced at her brother.

Walter White's expression had not changed once since Katie announced that she had gotten married the day before. It was a bemused expression, coupled with a hint of regret. He found his younger sister's decision to get married on a whim – and whim it must be considering she had only been home a month and had never brought a suitor around to meet her family – to be quite humorous. If anything, he was just upset that he had not been invited to the ceremony.

But, just because Walt found the whole situation humorous, it did not mean that he was going to defend her actions to their father. He was, after all, still heir to his father's wealth. At the rate the man was handling his daughter's surprising news, he might be inheriting sooner than they all expected.

Harold was waiting for Katie to reply but, when she did not, he continued in his rant. "Did I not give you everything a girl requires? Pretty clothes, a good education? What _did _they teach you at that Miss Norville's, Katherine? Did they teach you to marry the first man you ran across in the street?"

Katie shook her head; her long dark-blonde hair was swept back simply, with a dainty hat keeping it in place. After bathing and changing into her day clothes, she had not had much time to fix her hair. She was too anxious to come visit her family. This, in hindsight, was probably not the best idea. "Daddy, I did not just marry the first man. I had been seeing Liam for a month before we were wed."

The man gave up on trying to keep his fair hair set. He threw both of his hands up in the air and stood up from the couch again. Normal men pace but, ever since Katie had returned home, he had gone from sitting to standing multiple times. He was too afraid that, should he take a few steps away from the couch, he would try to sit down upon it, miss, and land on the floor. Definitely not an acceptable position for a man such as him.

"Liam? Liam!" he hollered, his hazel eyes opening wide and his hands waving with the effort of his yells. "Now, my daughter, why have I not met this Liam? If you, as you say, have been dating him for a month, would it not have been proper to bring him around to meet your father?"

From his seat, Walter tried hard to keep his face straight. It was quite rich, watching his father making a spectacle of himself. He knew that Harold was only putting on a show for the maids in the kitchen, but really… Who was he to remark on the propriety of actions when, more often than not, he brought loose and cheap women into his own home?

His eyes, the same vibrant green shade as his sister's, glanced sideways. He met Katie's gaze and winked once. She nodded her understanding. He would handle their father for her. As the elder White child, he had much more practice dealing with his father when he was in one of his tempers.

"Father?" At twenty-six years of age, Walt believed that he was far too old to refer to Harold as 'Daddy' the way that Katie did. He did not have much respect for the man to begin with, he was not going to lower himself and use such a childish moniker.

It seemed as if Harold had forgotten the present of his other child. He had been so surprised at Katie's rash actions and bold announcement, he had not paid Walter any mind. This, of course, was the way that Walt normally liked it. But he had a sister to protect – after all, if Harold lectured Katie to death, he would never find out what actually happened.

"Yes, Walter?"

"Shouldn't we give Katie the benefit of the doubt? Why don't we meet with Liam fellow and judge him then. I mean, what's done is done, right? Katie is married, now. We should feel lucky that her new husband did not spirit her away following their nuptials," he added slyly. That's exactly what Harold White had done to his young bride, Marie Marshall. He, himself, had been afraid that Mr. Thomas Marshall, a very powerful banker, would have the marriage annulled. Marie did not get the opportunity to visit her parents again until Harold's job as a lawyer began to flourish and she was pregnant with Walter.

Harold sighed and took his seat upon the sofa once more. Walter was right. "Katherine," he said, finally. "When can we meet this Liam man?"

And, with his question, the tension in the Brooklyn home evaporated. Her father had given in.

--

Without thinking – almost as if it were an unconditioned response – Spot's face twisted into a haughty smirk as he faced the young woman who had called out to him.

She was his age, maybe a few years behind him, but years on a hardened street had prematurely aged her. She had hair the color of coal but without any of the luster or shine; the dark mess, straight and crinkled at the same time, hung limply down her shoulders and went to the small of her back. It was ratted and knotted and, he could see from a few feet away, had a stray leaf nestled on the side.

Her arms were crossed over a good-size bosom, her legs spread in a fighting stance. There was an amused grin that split her long and dusty face but did not extend to her dark eyes; she was obviously not as happy as she was trying to appear. The girl was dressed in boys' clothing – a faded green shirt and dark brown slacks – that had certainly seen better days.

As he looked over the girl, Spot remembered the better days. It was not that long ago, actually, that he considered Cinder Harrow one of the prettiest street girls. They had sold newspapers together when they were kids; when he moved on, he had offered her the chance to be on of his girls, working under him at the local brothel.

Cinder had turned him down. And now she looked like shit. He was smirking. _She should have known better. _"Cinder," he greeted her. "How are you?"

She dropped her hands to her sides – Spot could see that the reason behind her crossing her chest was to hide the fact that her shirt was missing two buttons – and shrugged. "I'd be better, Conlon, if you told me that Ricky was lying."

"Lying about what, Cinder?" He contorted his features into a puzzled expression. _Next time I see Rick, I'm gonna have to talk to him about keeping his mouth shut_, he promised himself inwardly. It had been one day since bringing Katie home to be his bride and he was already dealing with the repercussions. And after that entire month of secrecy, too…

The girl cocked her head; the leaf seemed to dislodge from her wild mane. Spot watched as it fluttered, forgotten, to the ground. Then Cinder snorted. "Oh, don't pull that one on me, Conlon. You know what I'm talking about." And, to his embarrassment, she pointed at the simple gold band that was on his finger.

He had forgotten to remove the ring. _Shit_. He mimicked her earlier gesture and shrugged. "Yeah, and?"

"So, it's true then? You're hitched?"

Spot nodded. "Seems that way, eh, Cinder?"

"When?" Her voice had changed. She had seemed energetic, almost playful, earlier. Now her voice sounded strained.

"Yesterday. Why?"

Cinder shook her head. That fake smile had found its way back to her face; her eyes were still as dark as before. "Just wondering. I mean, I only heard from Ricky this morning and I couldn't believe it." Her smile was wavering and he saw that. "You know, I was only gone for a few weeks, Conlon. I didn't expect you to be taken when I got back."

He was truly puzzled now but did not show it. And then he remembered: Cinder had gone on a trip to Jersey with one of the other girls. He had run into her shortly before they left – he had been celebrating another job that he had pulled off and he met up with a bunch of the old gang down at a bar.

He had run into Cinder and another of the old girls, Fire, that night. After a few drinks, he and Cinder had sat down to reminisce over their days as newsies. She had been kind of anxious to leave Brooklyn behind but she had promised Fire that she would go with her. Spot, still on the high of completing a successful score, coupled with the amount of alcohol he consumed in celebration, had tried to console his old childhood chum.

And then one thing had led to another. The next thing he knew, he had woken up in his bed – with Cinder.

When he looked at the girl in front of him, he saw the hurt that was in her eyes. Spot was sure that she was the recognition in his own. Nervously, he began to twist the wedding ring on his left hand. The simple gold band was beginning to burn.


End file.
